


Shards

by Löwenzahn (ultimatebookworm)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Military, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, War, inspired by the siege of sarajevo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 06:44:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13242711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebookworm/pseuds/L%C3%B6wenzahn
Summary: Lance and Hunk have spent their teenage years in the midst of a violent war with the Galra. They've found their own way to survive, but when Princess Allura approaches them with an offer to change their fate, are they willing to put their own lives on the life for everyone they know?





	Shards

There were birds in the sky, and that, thought Lance, was the best sign that things were going back to normal.

Glass crunched beneath his feet as he stepped outside the front door, the wind tugging at his clothes like a friend greeting him after a long absence. He took a deep breath and tilted his face up to drink in the sunlight. Around him, children were laughing, grown-ups were chattering, and the streets were coming alive again.

It had been over three weeks since anyone had spotted Galra soldiers anywhere in the city. The Resistance had warned them to be wary nevertheless, but after the fear and tension of the past months, no-one was willing to stay inside long.

Although the streets were covered in rubble, the buildings blackened and glass shards littering the pavement, the courtyard behind Lance’s apartment building was almost unharmed. The trees swayed softly in the wind, and the playground looked deceptively peaceful, as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. Lance sank down under one of the trees on the very edge of the courtyard, watching his siblings play on the swings with the neighbourhood children. They hadn’t been outside in far too long.

Gradually the flood of noises died down as adults went back inside to try and use the temporary peace to make their apartments liveable again.  Lance stayed outside with the children, watching lazily as they crowded around the jungle bars.

The sun shone on his face, birds singing in the trees above him, the children shouting excitedly. This was how he remembered peace, and he savoured it. He could hear his sister even above the squeals of the other children, and it brought a smile to his face.

His little brother squealed shrilly, the sound interspersed with laughter, but there was another sound beyond it, even louder, even shriller, even...

Lance needed only a fraction of a second to recognize that whistling sound and it brought him to his feet immediately, shouting, leaping towards the children at the jungle bars, panic rising up in his chest, his scream tearing his throat raw, but he had taken only half a step when the whistling reached a crescendo and a sudden burst of heat, pressure and sound tossed him back like a rag doll.

The world tilted as he got up on his elbows, strangely clear despite the ringing in his ears. Around him, dust rose and settled in strange swirling rhythms as if the blast had shaken time out of its linear confinement. “Nico?” He croaked out his brother’s name weakly as he fought to get into a sitting position. His hands were bleeding, he noticed, and the side of his skull felt like it had been split open. “Débora? Val?” His throat was full of dust, the taste of rust on his tongue, and his vision blurred before sharpening suddenly.

The playground lay silent before him, the jungle gym twisted and blackened. Scattered around the playground, looking more like objects than people, lay the broken, twisted, charred bodies of the neighbourhood children. In the distance, he heard more whistling. Explosions. Screams.

Lance thought he was going to cry. Or vomit. Or go mad in that very instant, with the sun shining above him, the first nice day in three weeks.

Instead, he simply keeled over and passed out.

 

“I’ve got him.” Lance muttered, rifle trained on the Galra soldier stationed in front of the hospital door.  "You know why I'm so good at this?" Lance asked as he rested his rifle against the windowsill, crouching down and simply breathing.

"Stop talking." Came the voice through the intercom. Lance just chuckled and breathed deep, easing out the trembling in his fingers. "Sure you're not interested, Parker? I'd think you'd be taking notes."

"Take the fucking shot, McClain." Parker replied. Lance took in a last deep breath before he finally pulled the trigger. The figure keeled over just a second before the second guard went to his knees as well, clutching his chest.

Lance sighed, relaxing and rolling his shoulders. “Parker, you can go in now. Me and Hunk will stay here and cover for you.”

In the street below, a ragtag group scuttled across the road and climbed over the bodies to open the back door to the hospital. Lance checked in with Hunk and then settled down to wait.

He didn’t really hate Parker. They just had very different outlooks on life, but in the end, the rats were family. He’d joined them when his parents had died just two months after his siblings, and Hunk’s family hadn’t been able to provide for their own children, much less Lance. The rats fed him and Hunk, gave them a second family, somewhere to stay during the day that wasn’t Hunk’s family’s bombed apartment. More importantly, the raids fed Hunk’s family, the entire neighbourhood in fact.

In the beginning of the war, the Altean Army had still provided food and medical assistance, and after they had been all but driven out, the Resistance had taken over caring for the citizens of the town, but the small ragtag group of untrained rebels couldn’t provide everything. And so, groups like the rats had formed in every part of town, taking in everyone who wanted to join, raiding Galra bases and warehouses to provide for their friends and families.

That was how Lance had come to be here, the best sniper in the neighbourhood, a rebel guerrilla at eighteen. He watched the hospital dutifully, rifle resting on the windowsill, occasionally checking in with Hunk over the shitty radios the rats had pilfered over the months.

He was so engrossed in his job, eyes sweeping over the stretch of road below, tracking the corners one after the other, that he didn’t notice a second presence in the room until a voice sounded behind him.

“You need to be more aware of your surroundings, sharpshooter.”

Lance shot up with a yell, crashing against a soft, human shape behind him, rifle clattering the floor as he pulled a knife from his belt to face whoever had snuck up on him.

Eyes wide and breathing laboured, Lance stared at the man standing opposite him. Somewhere between middle-aged and kind of old, with shocking red hair and an impressive moustache. And dressed in clean, expensive black combat gear. Lance felt his mouth open and close soundlessly as Hunk’s voice crackled through the radio next to him.

“Uh... Lance... there’s someone here with me... she says she’s part of the Resistance? Is... everything alright on your end?”

The ginger man gestured towards the radio calmly, as if he hadn’t just snuck up on a fully armed teenager dressed in rags. “I think you should tell him you’re fine.”

Without looking away or lowering his knife for a second, Lance fumbled with the radio at his side and brought it up to his lips.

“Hunk, this is Lance. Everything’s fine... there’s someone in the room with me too, but he hasn’t attack...”

“I’m not planning on attacking.” The man interrupted gently, with surprising sincerity. “I believe Allura has told your friend. We are part of the Resistance.”

Lance lowered the radio slowly. “Then why are you here?”

“My name is Coran.” The man said. “I am the advisor of Princess Allura, leader of the Resistance. She’s upstairs, with your partner. We have come personally to bring a proposal.”

“What kind of proposal?” Lance was still wary, his voice still held a sharp edge, but he lowered his knife slowly, although he didn’t sheath it just yet.

“We are putting together a team. Like these little gangs you have here, but better. People with expertise, small teams that can sneak in and out, hit the Galra quickly and run.”

“And of all the people you could pick,” Lance’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion, voice cold, “you choose a teenage sniper.”

“You _are_ the best we could find. People are talking, Lance. You and your partner – Hunk- you give people hope.”

Lance felt a warm flare at that, a thrill rushing through him. _Revenge._ He was resisting the Galra, and people were taking notice.

“Hunk.” He raised the radio to his lips again. “Come down. We need to talk to these people together.”

He had to see his friend first, know he was alright, make sure Coran and Allura were real and not just leading him into a trap.

“Already on my way.” Hunk’s voice crackled through.

 

“I’m still having a hard time believing you need _us._ Of all people.”

Allura crossed her arms. She was tall and utterly gorgeous, with a black uniform similar to Coran’s except for pink and golden trimmings. She frowned, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “You’re the best we could find. There aren’t many fighters left, and those that are... they’re brutes, like your friends there. No talent. No precision.”

Lance felt a cold wall push itself between him and Allura. He sent her a chilly glare. “They’re honourable people who have done more for the families in the neighbourhood than your fancy resistance or your father’s army... Princess.”

“That may be, but they are no trained soldiers.”

“And you think we are?” Hunk challenged.

“You fight like it.”

Hunk snorted and turned to Lance, who nodded in unspoken agreement.

“We’re not interested.”

Allura seemed astounded and angry all at once. She spluttered, obviously not used to refusal. Coran put a hand on her shoulder. “Now, boys, I think you should consider this...”

“We’ve considered. No.”

“I understand that you’re frustrated we haven’t been able to help your families. But you could help us finally make a difference. We need your help.”

Lance hesitated, gaze flickering over to Hunk. Hunk’s eyes were wavering, memories passing over the surface, planes flying across the back of his mind, rubble, blood and flame slowly clouding his gaze.

Lance knew what he was thinking. Finally. A chance to make a difference. For revenge.

Lance remembered the scorching flame, the screams of his siblings moments before the bomb hit. The thin, puckered scars where the shrapnel had hit him itched, stretching his skin.

He watched Hunk again. They stared at each other, both remembering the same things. The hunger in the camps. The bombed ruins of Lance’s apartment. The Rats scrabbling daily to survive. Gunshots in the dark, at midnight, and mothers hushing their babies in their hiding places.

“We’ll consider it.” Lance said. Hunk nodded. “Meet us here tomorrow. And now go. You’re interfering with our mission.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr! http://a-beacon-of-joy.tumblr.com/


End file.
